A.N.: I just noticed that ffdotnet didn't like my line breaks in the last chapter. How annoying is that? Did it make it more difficult to read? Let me know if you want me to go back and clean it up a bit.

So, I wasn't intending on giving shout outs to other people's fics here like I did with "The Riddle," (Btws, The Riddle just got concluded, why haven't you read it yet?) but I'm going to make a special exception and recommend you all check out "Gifts, Stolen and Received," by Nagia over on AO3. For one thing, it's an amazing Dresden Files crossover and I fangirled so hard over it (and it takes a lot for me to like a crossover). For another, I was a bit piqued to note my idea of "Williams die in car crash, Sarah makes deal to save them," was not as original as I had thought – not that I'm surprised. However, though that part of the premise is similar, Nagia takes it in a totally different direction than this, and it's good. Oh God is it good.

I didn't ask Chet to beta this one because he's been busy, so I'm a little unsure about it. But I THINK it's good. Do let me know if it's otherwise.

And now, I get to squee like a teenager again, because it's time to respond to reviewers!

GodlyJewel: Another big thank you for your kind reviews, and I intend to PM you about all the wonderful things you had to say about "The Riddle." Just...maybe remind me, because I am just all over the place this week.

Whyndancer: Really? I didn't think I was being that subtle. I guess this could be a great opportunity for me to subvert expectations and not have Jareth in the bedroo- no, wait, stop throwing things at me!

Mauradergurl2010: Well, I'm glad that you're glad that I'm glad that you're glad! So there!

Mztlynne: I'm really glad to see the hospital scene as well received as it has been. That was something I really wanted to be able to pull off; yeah, we could have taken pages and pages to actually experience it with Sarah, but it would have been grinding and taken forever and the narrative would have ground to a halt. I was hoping this captured the almost-out-of-body nature of having to deal with beyond terrible news.

Meridian13: What a coincidence! I uploaded this while watching the movie with my friend Chet – who had been betaing this whole time without even having seen the whole thing. Yes, ladies, he is single.

…...

Come across you lost and broken

You're coming to

But you're slow in waking

You start to shake -

You still haven't spoken,

What happened?

"Say When," The Fray

…...

Sarah's apartment bedroom did not have the elegant French windows of her parents' home in Upper Nyack, so it would have been logical to think she'd have been surprised to see her window pulled open, yellow-faded curtains wafting in the icy breeze. It wasn't like before, those thirteen years ago. A dramatic entrance of bursting through the window in a cloud of glitter could not be made – unless, of course, he did come in as an owl. A barn owl in Hells Kitchen on New Years Eve? If that is what had happened, Sarah had missed it, her fingers digging into the jamb of her bedroom doorway in an effort to keep herself standing on shaky legs.

He was just the same, oh God he was just the same. The Goblin King was in front of her open window, and the merciless winter wind whipped at his tattered black cape in high, dramatic style. His arms were crossed over that strong chest, wrapped as it was in black Goblin armor; on the chest piece, she could just make out between the line of his arms, was the face of a snarling Goblin, its two horns curving down to encircle his pectoral muscles and came to a point at the center. The high crest of his collar was the same, the feathery ends of his hair, his pants, his boots, they were all just the same! His proud, haughty scowl peered down at her, as though he had merely deigned to come rather than being summoned by the oldest magic in existence, the magic that rooted mortal to fey.

Him to her.

The space under Sarah's bed, the empty corners of her closet, even the smallest nook in her chest of drawers were usually filled with a mix of brownies and pixies, sprites and fairies, little wisps of magical creatures that took comfort in her notice of them. They had all entirely cleared out. No one would dare remain in the presence of stronger magic – except for Sarah Williams, Champion of the Labyrinth; the one in possession of a power much greater by far, but not a power of magic.

Sarah finally remembered to breathe again, standing in her doorway, taking him all in. She wasn't sure if she thought he would come or not – probably had not been thinking at all. She certainly did not think anything now. If she had, she would not have launched herself at him, her arms wrapping around his strong, firm torso while her green eyes stung with un-shed tears. "I have never been so happy to see you!"

The air left the King's body in a great rush. Sarah might have knocked it out of him, but it was due to surprise, and not by force (though her slender arms wound round his lithe frame tightly, as though clinging to the only solid thing in a sinking world). It had been Jareth's intention to hold onto his cold, aloof air with Sarah, to tilt his beak-like nose in proud and righteously arrogant fashion high into the air. He had planned to flash that cold sneer that so unnerved little mortals – and also fey – and strut about her shabby apartment with shoulders back, black cape dragging against stained carpeting. "What was your name again? Ah, yes, the one who fell in love with Higgle, was it?" He would say this, and those green eyes of hers would flash, and his sharp teeth would be revealed in a winning sneer-

But, as ever, Sarah Williams dashed all his lovely plans to pieces. For one thing, she had changed, almost entirely; oh, not in the important ways. Her hair was still that deep, dark color, so brown it might have even been black, glossy like the light of the moon. The baby fat had left her cheeks so that her face was cut with high, elegant cheek bones, but she still had that tiny button nose that gave her a kind of childish beauty. And her eyes...were still somewhere between emerald and peridot, sage and ivy, a color of green all their own. But the way she carried herself, the way she dressed had changed. Perhaps because it was the mortal New Year, but she wore a silver top of sequins that reflected the low light of the city, and a black skirt cut just above the knee, so much more adult than the girl who ran the Labyrinth. And her knees...were red, as though she'd given herself a friction burn, her hands as well. She leaned precariously on one foot, the other looking like it had been twisted through the strappy heels she wore. She looked a mess, a gorgeous, haunting, haunted mess. Oh, what was the use? He remembered Sarah, of course he remembered Sarah, changed or no. He remembered her each time she talked to one of her silly little friends in her mirror, or pulled them into her world – what, they thought he didn't know? Of course he knew. He knew each time she called to every fey being that flitted across the Aboveground and not to him. Not that he was at all embittered about that.

It was due to his surprise, he therefore surmised, that he wheezed in reply, "The feeling is quite mutual, I assure you..."

She released him, and the Goblin King was glad for it, because he rather disliked being put off his guard so suddenly. Straightening the silk sleeves of his shirt, he examined her with that detached and haughty gaze once again as she stepped back, seeming to examine him just as thoroughly. "J-Jareth." She saw his eyes flicker when she said his name, but from what emotion she could not tell. It struck her, suddenly, that she had never said his name to him before that moment, and the realization was a bit of a strange one. But then, if ever there was a time to start, now was probably it. "I need your help," she whispered in the darkness of her bedroom, voice a hoarse murmur she knew he would still hear.

The unreal fey king took a step in, her scratchy, grey carpet crushed beneath the sole of his shiny boot. Without needing so much as a nod from him, Sarah saw her window slide shut behind him with a dull, "thud." Well, it would keep the cold out, at least. "I know." His voice was almost as soft as hers, but much more steady. The tenor was a smooth one, low and dulcet, and it had lost any of the breathy wheezing she may have heard earlier. "I heard your wishing." Jareth stopped just in front of her, the edges of his cloak licking at her bare calves, so close she could see the pupils of his eyes very clearly, reflecting the low light of her bedroom. The scent of him wove around her the same way the cape did. "What is it, Sarah."

Sarah opened her mouth...closed it. Twice more. She was, quite honestly, doing her best to communicate with the ethereal being in her bedroom, but the words just would not come. It was possible she could not say them, lest it make the situation realer than her fragile nerves could take. It was possible she did not want to acknowledge the truth of them. It was equally possible that saying these words – that her family was dead – was a powerful thing, and at that moment, Sarah did not feel strong enough for it. Still, she tried, a pale hand hesitantly going out to his dark arm. She noticed, then, that she was trembling like a leaf; Jareth noticed it, too, flicked his eyes up and down her shivering body as she began to shake uncontrollably. "It's...they..." She was struggling, and her un-shed tears seemed to be threatening to spring to her tired green eyes.

The King caught her trembling hand in his, the grey silk of his gloves smooth and soft to the touch, his thumb running over the back of her shivering hand. "What happened?" he repeated, voice low in a way that was somewhat soothing to her fraying mind.

"Toby." Sarah was crying at last, covering her mouth with her free hand to hold back some of the sobs that were overcoming her. With the effort of it, her shoulders began to shake, her thin mascara clinging in dark clumps to her eye lashes. "Dad, Karen...th-th-there-" she could barely speak for her sobbing, and Jareth pulled her in closer by her hand, still saying nothing. Her dripping, puffy face was mere inches from his chest; she would have been able to breathe in his spicy scent, but for the fact that the force of her tears had swollen her sinus cavities and she could only gasp for breath in shaky gulps through her mouth. "There was an accident. This car, and – the other driver...they're dead." Swallowing down tears and a bit of mucus from the back of her throat, Sarah coughed hard and turned her face up to her childhood nemesis, green eyes more pleading than they had been even in her father's bedroom the night he'd come to take Toby. "Please, Jareth," she begged, looking for all the world like she might fall to her knees. "You have to do something, you have to-"

"Stop, Sarah." The woman was surprised into silence by the press of his gloved fingers on her dry, cracking lips. The look in his mismatched eyes was intense, far more than anything she had ever expected to see, even more so than the final time they had met and parted. "I am flattered by your renewed belief in my abilities, but what you are about to ask of me is far beyond my purview; I cannot bring others back from the grave, nor can I reanimate the dead. It is a forbidden magic even I would not tamper with."

Both of Sarah's trembling hands wrapped around his, squeezing so tightly it felt like one of them – most likely her – might break apart at any moment. "There has to be something you can do..." she begged him with wide, red-rimmed eyes. She licked her lips with desperation and promised, "I'd do anything-!"

The Goblin King sighed, stepping back slightly to observe her, but not pulling his hand from her desperate grasp. She meant it, he knew. If he told her the prize was to live as his concubine, she'd have stripped herself bare in a heartbeat; if he'd told her he wanted her head to mount above his throne as a lesson to other petulant little girls, she'd have run straight to the kitchen and brought him her largest knife. What on earth was wrong with this grown-up girl that she so thoughtlessly plunged ahead into things she did not want, all for the sake of others? It was a nasty habit that he felt sure would one day get her into trouble.

How lucky she was, Jareth mused, to be asking one of the more generous Lords of the Underground. Not that the silly creature would ever be aware of it.

After a long moment, his smooth voice murmured, "There may be a way to do this thing you ask." Sarah gave a broken sob of relief and covered his hand in her soft kisses. Jareth's eyebrows furrowed in consternation; did she think him so easily won over? "However, it is not without sacrifice."

"Anything," she promised, pressing his hand to her swollen cheek. Jareth could feel the heat of her tears beneath his gloved fingers. "I'll give you anything you ask for!"

"As sweet as the temptation is, I'm afraid it's not me you should be offering anything to."

"...w-what?" Sarah looked around her apartment bedroom, as if searching out the friendly lesser fey that usually were there to explain such matters to her.

Jareth pulled himself from her grasp, beginning to circle around her as if in great study of her form. "Death is not quite the unreasonable fellow people make him out to be – however, once he's made a claim, he will not give it back. He requires a trade."

"A...trade? Someone else's life, you mean?"

"That's generally the case, yes," the Goblin King nodded, observing her face and watching the different emotions and realizations play out across it and through her eyes.

"Then...for my three family members, does he need...?"

Jareth lightly shook his head, the air catching a few of the long tendrils of his platinum hair. "Not necessarily. If they were all taken in the same accident, it may be counted as one 'event.' Besides, Sarah, you ought to know – not all lives are equal."

"That's disgusting," she snapped, turning heated green looks upon him. Many men would have withered under that gaze. Jareth grew like a plant exposed to sunlight, so much so that he was even able to pull his lips over his teeth in an eery, Goblin smile.

"That's Death," he shrugged, his black mantle settling itself across his shoulders. "You asked me to help, and here is what I can offer you." In his outstretched palm, a crystal appeared, as soft and smooth as Sarah had remembered them. "I cannot steal your family from Death's dominion, it would not be worth my life nor power to do so; however. I can arrange a trade, a 'switch-eroo,' as I believe it is colloquially known. Anyone might do, really, Death isn't as picky as all that. Well," the Goblin King sighed, his free hand placed thoughtfully to his chin. "I suppose he can afford to be more patient than most – everyone comes to him eventually."

"You mean..." Sarah's gaze had gone down to the shiny tops of Jareth's black boots, but slowly she pulled her stare up again. "You mean you're asking me to pick someone? To take my family's place?"

"That is the long and the short of it, yes," the more-than-man replied, pressing his hand a little closer to her. "You needn't thank me for my cleverness unless you feel particularly impressed."

Sarah did not thank him – in fact, she couldn't even speak. One of her hands had clenched around the white column of her throat, her face blanched in horror at the thought. "I..." she hesitated, wondering what sort of person she could be if she accepted this Devil's Bargain. "I couldn't."

"You just told me you'd do anything," Jareth hissed, strange eyes narrowing at her. "Are you truly backing out so quickly? I thought you made of sterner stuff."

"I am!" Sarah shouted back at him, her free hand balled into a fist at her side. "But...but this-!"

"-is a deal millions of other people would not hesitate for a moment to accept," he finished the thought for her, sighing with a shake of his head. "And they would gladly throw you under the bus if given the opportunity. Really, Sarah, not everyone shares these lofty scruples of yours."

"That's all the more reason for me to keep them," she muttered in reply.

"I really did not come all this way after all this time to be lectured about tilting at windmills," the King snapped tartly, beginning to withdraw his offer. The flash of desperation behind her green eyes made him pause, grin forming again in consideration. "Besides, Sarah. No one said the choice had to be a bad or tough one, or even made at random. There are many ways justice can be served by this." Jareth drew up close to her, and this time Sarah could catch whiff of the odor of him, eyes closing automatically: he smelled like ancient magic and manhood; frankincense, leather, coffee, stardust. She could feel the pulsing heat of his presence behind her, and she almost leaned against him, so weakened by the horrors of her night. Almost as if he could sense her hesitation, the Goblin King lay his gloved hand at her shoulder, his fingers digging gently in, and the other hand came around the other side to hold the bright bubble just at the level of her eyes. "I have a rather genius idea," he whispered in her ear, so that she could feel his breath against her skin and shuddered. "Let's kill the driver, my love."

Sarah's shuddering began in earnest, and she stepped backwards, closer into the warm semi-circle of his arms. "The driver...?" She repeated it numbly, mindlessly.

"And why not? It's his fault, isn't it, it's his selfishness and carelessness that allowed this to happen. That stupid man – so eager to drown himself in his hedonistic pursuits, so self-absorbed. Never stopping to think what he might do for even a moment..."

"Yes..." Sarah's eyes were wide in the dark. Jareth could not quite see them, behind her as he was, but he knew what look she might wear, knew the glitter that would lie within those deliciously green eyes, and he could not stop the grin that spread across his sharp features. In thirteen years, Sarah had grown up to fine womanhood, but that meant she had lost a little of that innocent veneer she'd worn the last time they had met. The necessity of life had made her just a little colder, just a little more cynical. She could see the wisdom in this deal where her fifteen year old self would have only found revulsion. And if this wasn't justice, wasn't it at least vengeance? That stupid slime of a man had taken everything from her, had killed an innocent boy in the prime of his youth. What right had this stranger to continue living where Toby and his family had not?

Jareth twisted the crystal between his fingers in front of her, watching as focus returned to her green eyes and she stared into its shimmering depths. "I'll reorder time for you..." he whispered, feeling the heat of her body close to him. He took a step forward so that they barely touched, and she felt liquid next to him, like they were a perfect fit – and they were. She was so deliciously hot, and frightfully cold; a queen of vengeance and justice and fury. What a perfect consort she could make in this kind of state, someone to rule in the Underground with a fist of cold iron. Jareth ran his other hand from her shoulder down her arm, gently playing with her fingers before settling his gloved hand at the bend of her waist. "I shall make it terrible – for how could I not, when a foolish mortal man brings tears to those lovely eyes, hm?"

"Yes!" she was gasping for breath, as though his words alone were a kind of painful ecstasy, and she raised her delicate fingers to touch the bauble. "Jareth..."

"I'm here..." His voice was in her ear. He noticed that the pair had begun to sway slightly on unsteady feet, he and her both, as though they had consumed the champagne that had long since gone hot on her counter top, or an unearthly tune was playing through her bedroom. "Just say the Right Words, and I will give it all to you..."

Sarah's slim fingers wrapped around the glassy bubble, her red lips parted, and heat – fiery, intense, almost painful heat – ran straight up her arm, settled in her ulna with an aching, pulsing thrum, as though she had just hit her elbow in the precise way to make her arm go agonizingly numb. With a shaky gasp of breath, she could no longer see the darkness of her apartment bedroom, but a stark, white room, cold linoleum tiles, peeling plaster walls. It smelled like formaldehyde, so strongly she thought she might gag, and rows of worn folding chairs were lined up like cheap pews. There was a smattering of people in the cheap hall, mainly dressed in black, some with stained white shirts and dark ties. A thin, oak casket rested on a dais draped in white oil cloth, stained with dripping wax from sputtering candles. A boy sat at the front of all this, hands wrapped around a red plastic cup with knock-off lemonade, while those around him murmured and mixed quietly around a folding table covered in cheap relishes. Sarah could see, though she wasn't entirely sure how, what a sad and drawn face the little boy wore, looking down into the thin, oily sheen of his lemon-ish drink. This was more potent than any of the fey things she had seen in the last thirteen years, this was a startling vision that threatened to make her faint with its intensity of sounds and colors and smells and stark awfulness.

She didn't feel like she was physically there, but none the less, she raised her hand to the boy, wanting so badly to touch him, to give him some comfort. It felt as though her fingers should have made contact with his own where they rested around the cup, though she could not see them connecting, and in that moment she felt more white, hot pain snake up her arm. The boy had lost his father: it was true he'd never been much of a parent, had missed many birthday parties and baseball games, called his mother nasty names and was always, always late with child support – but that didn't mean the boy had wanted him dead. For how could he ever make up for all his failings and be a proper father to his son if he wasn't there? Tears were springing to Sarah's eyes, she was choking on them, and she felt as though she were falling back, struggling – struggling to get away from this horrible, cold place with its awful, embalming fluid perfumes and its stark heartlessness.

"N-No!" Sarah wasn't sure if she had shrieked wildly or barely managed a hoarse whisper, but she found herself in the dark of the apartment again, her hand off the crystal but throbbing slightly where she had touched it. She was not standing upright, instead she was leaning back against the firm, armored chest of the Goblin King, both his lean arms wrapped around her. And she was glad for it. "No..." Definitely a whisper now, Sarah tilted her pale, haunting face so that she could just meet the fey king eye to eye. There were no tears in her green eyes, but they were so empty, so eternally sad, that there was no mistaking the intent there. "I can't," she told him, her voice just barely audible in the dark of the night. The ticking of her bedroom clock was far louder than she was, and she glanced surreptitiously at it; eleven fifty-eight.

Jareth stared down at her, thin mouth set, looking entirely like the Goblin King she'd always known – cold, aloof, without pity. "And what?" he hissed to her, his harsh, vaguely-minty breath ghosting across the smooth skin of her pale forehead. "You'll let your brother die to save the life of a wretch who never thought of another person once in his entire selfish life?"

Sarah shook her head, pulling herself upright and just out of the circle of his arms, still unsteady. "No."

...There was a moment of comprehension. The Goblin King's eyes narrowed to match his thin mouth. "Sarah..." he warned, not at all pleased.

She said it anyway: "I'll do it. I'll take their place in the car."

Jareth hissed again, banishing the crystal with a flick of his wrist. His pale eyes bore a look of irritation, disappointment, maybe even anger as he stared from where his magic had been conjured and back to her. "You and your damned stubborn, self-sacrificing, noble idiocy."

Sarah knew she was trembling head to foot, but still found her lips tugging in a shaking smile. "Thanks..."

"Reconsider." It was a demand, not a request.

God, she was afraid. She wanted to listen to him, she wanted – for just a half a moment – for him to have power over her and refuse her this request. Sarah Williams didn't want to die. She was absolutely terrified. But how could she live, not saving her family, or dooming another in their place? It would have been more terrible than the worst damnation. Biting her lower lip, she shook her head, dark hair gently wafting with the movement. "I can't..."

"Very well..." Without warning, Jareth seized her by the wrist and dragged her against the hard line of his body. Sarah gasped, maybe even squeaked a little, looking up into his unreal eyes. She could not even begin to guess the emotions that played there, and therefore did not even try. "There is no time for goodbyes."

She nodded; that made sense. "I know."

"I will do what I can to make this...painless." Suddenly, he was holding her face in those warm, gloved hands, and a peculiar, familiar flash of something flickered across his gaze. Sarah's lips parted in surprised breathlessness, just watching him.

"Ten, nine, eight-" She could hear the rhythmic chanting of her neighbors through the walls of her apartment, ready to ring in the dying of another year.

The dying of Miss Sarah Williams.

Jareth kissed her before she could say another word; Sarah wasn't really surprised, though it was not something she had expected. He was far more tender than she would have guessed, his lips pressed softly and insistently against her own. Sarah kissed him back without hesitation, hands clinging tightly to his strong arms, wanting desperately to hang on to this one last, final, clear moment of life, of being alive. Oh God, freeze time, don't let it end-

"Three, two, one-" The New Year's kiss she'd been waiting for, it seemed, all her life, to finally have it here at the end. "-Happy New Year!"

Bells, whistles, fireworks – but that fell into the background as the gong of an unseen clock, one she certainly did not own, overcame all competing noise to toll the hours; one, two, twelve, and then one more. The thirteenth chime. It felt like the world was melting beneath her feet, and she wanted to hold on to Jareth, beg in his mouth for him to stay with her, she was brave but so scared-

She was standing in her living room, by her black couch; Sarah nearly fell over with a sudden burst of vertigo. Strange, she had never been a sufferer before. "Oh God..." Her open hand went to her throbbing head, then down to her tingling lips. Something had just happened, something she wanted so badly to remember...

"Sarah?" There was a tinny, electric voice in her ear, and she realized she'd been holding the phone. Karen on the other end. "Sarah, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, just a dizzy spell." The young actress shook her head a little, trying to clear it. What was she doing? Oh, finishing getting ready to go home for her parents' little New Year's Eve party, of course! She looked around briefly, expecting decorations and tinsel and – but why would there be? She wasn't hosting any kind of party, of course her apartment would be draped in its stark normalcy.

"Do you want to stay home?"

"And disappoint Toby?" she replied, pulling on her pair of strappy heels, smoothing out the wrinkles in her black skirt and trying to sort through her spinning mind. "Never! I've got the wine in a bag with an ice pack, I'll be there within an hour."

"Drive safely," Karen was admonishing in her perpetually mothering tone. "I don't think there's any ice on the major roadways, but you know how people drive on a holiday."

"I'll be fine!" she promised with a light-hearted laugh she didn't quite feel. Everything was fine, surely, but then why did she have this sense of foreboding niggling in the back of her mind. Why were the pixies hanging on her pantry door staring at her like that? "See you soon."

"Yes, love you."

"Love you, too." It was said with the automatic assurance of perfect comfort, and without a worry, Sarah pulled her bag onto her shoulder and rushed out her door. Eight thirty. Traffic probably would be fairly light to Upper Nyack, as most revelers would be heading toward the city, not away from it. Why was she having such a hard time smiling when she slid into the worn seat of her old car? Something I'm supposed to remember... Well, no time to worry, she had to see Toby. Without hesitation, she pulled from her apartment's parking garage and out to the open roadway. Snow still clung to gutters, icicles hung from street signs. The glittering lights of Manhattan gave way to the faded street lights and neon signs of the turnpike as she sped for her childhood home. Something...something...Sarah pushed it from her mind, turned on the radio, flipped through the channels and the static and found there was no music that fit her current mood. She'd been about to fuss with her tape deck at the next red light when a horrible, squealing sound of brakes and tires caught her attention: a car, a swerving maniac of a car, veering wildly out of control, crossing the center lane, coming closer, closer, too close-! She thought she screamed, maybe, once-

Heard the crunch of metal, the ripping sound of shattering glass, the bruising feeling of her seat belt snapping under the pressure-

She felt, saw, heard, tasted, smelled-

Nothing else.

…...

A.N.: Bonus author's note! I guess I should really be grateful my muse is returned with a vengeance after YEARS of painful inspiration block, but I've had yet another idea. I'd really like to finish this one first, but you know how it is: when a plot bunny sinks its teeth into you, it doesn't let go for anything.

It's a rather delicious Laby fic (of course) if I do say so myself, but I'm having some trouble with the plot – not my strong suit at the best of times. So I'm having a "casting call," if you will: if you're experienced with the fandom and writing fanfic, enjoy bouncing ideas with others, and/or just really want to hang out with me in the virtual world, PM me. I need someone to help me through some of the gaping holes in my ideas and to generally be my partner in crime (my usual partner in crime doesn't like Labyrinth. I know, the sacrilege). Looking forward to hearing from some of you – hopefully!